


Party

by EvilEd



Category: Bottom (UK)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, It's Rare I Know, M/M, No Angst, for once, just a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEd/pseuds/EvilEd
Summary: Requested by Frankenbolt - sorry it took me so long hun!Richie throws a party, Eddie gets drunk, and nothing quite goes to plan.
Relationships: Edward "Eddie" Elizabeth Hitler/Richard "Richie" Richard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankenbolt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenbolt/gifts).



> So this was one of the prompts I posted on tumblr ages ago, as requested by the lovely Frankenbolt. It took me such a long time because I'm crap at writing Richie and Eddie, and I legitimately could not think of an idea. Like, to the point where I stuck the prompt on my pinboard in the hopes that inspiration would come. And then it did, suddenly and spontaneously, and I wrote out the whole thing this afternoon before crashing for a two-hour nap. So...Bon appétit I guess? Hope you enjoy anyway XD

“I don’t believe it!” Richie yelled, although his tone was probably closer to either a scream or a sob. He paced back and forth from kitchen to drawing-room with his usual levels of dramatic flair, but he was obviously distraught about…well. He was obviously distraught about _something_. Honestly, Eddie really wasn’t sure what. Keeping up with Richie’s unpredictable mood fluctuations was a full-time job in and of itself, and Eddie was halfway through his fourth bottle of spirits, so he was hardly in the right mindset to display any sort of emotional intelligence. Not that he was in the habit of doing so anyway, of course. The drink just happened to be a _very_ reasonable excuse.

“ _Unbelievable_. Absolutely unbelievable!” Richie paused, turned on Eddie, “Do _you_ believe it?!”

“No, I don’t believe it.” Eddie slurred, even though he had no idea what _it_ was, or why _it_ was so unbelievable to begin with. If living with Richie had taught him anything, it was that sometimes, it was better to simply agree.

“After _all_ the work I put in! The people I spoke to, the invitations I sent out! All the food I made, and the _hours_ upon _hours_ I spent cleaning the flat!” He gestured first to the sad-looking pots and pans on the stove, all coated with a thick layer of charred, blackened…something, and then to the solitary clean patch on the center of the drawing-room carpet. “And no one even _bothered_ to turn up!”

Ah, course. The party. That stupid _bloody_ party – the one Richie hadn’t stopped prattling on about for weeks on end. And now he was probably going to whine about it all bloody evening. Brilliant. If he’d been a bit less tired, far less drunk, and not quite so interested in the way Richie’s new jeans were just a _little_ bit too tight, Eddie might’ve had the ability to be angry about this sudden turn of events. Instead, he shot his flatmate a tired, passive – but undeniably _fond_ – look and continued to drink.

“Not _one_ person! Not one! It’s been _hours_ now! Hours and hours and hours and _hours_! It just isn’t _fair_.” Richie threw himself onto the sofa with a sniffle, a whine, a melodramatic sigh, and just when it seemed he might’ve quietened down for a while – that he might _actually_ allow Eddie to watch telly in silence – he suddenly (and rather _violently_ ) draped himself over his housemate with another depressed sigh.

“Oh _Eddie_.” He whined, “ _Why_ doesn’t anybody want to come to my party?”

“Because nobody likes you very much,” Eddie replied, and promptly shifted over to limit the amount of physical contact between them – before things could get any more _uncomfortable._

“But I’ve got lots of friends!” Another whine, and this time Richie’s head came to rest on Eddie’s thigh as he threw his legs over the arm of the sofa.

“No you haven’t,” Eddie told him, and shifted once again, this time more out of a desire to protect his drink from an enthusiastic flourish of Richie’s hand than a need to disguise the rapid tightening in the front of his trousers – though that was still _reasonably_ high on his list of priorities. Fancying the smarmy bastard was insufferable at the best of times. He’d rather not make it worse by being caught out with a stiffy. Christ, he wished Richie wouldn’t do things like this – especially when Eddie’d had _far_ too much to drink to actually be able to do anything about it. Richie, oblivious as always to anyone other than himself, continued his rant in typical Richie fashion.

“Excuse me, matey. I’ve got _plenty_ of friends! Lots! Why, there’s Spudgun and Hedgehog - ”

“Ah, no. No, they’re _my_ friends, Richie. They can’t stand the sight of you, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, there’s…”

“Yes?”

“Erm…Well. Well, there’s…well. There must be _someone_.”

“There isn’t.” Eddie assured him before draining his bottle and placing it on the table with the others, “But don’t take it to heart, Rich. Think of the money you’ll save on Christmas cards this year.”

“That’s true.” Richie nodded, but he was still pressed rather closely against Eddie, his head still resting on the other man’s shoulder, and frankly, it was all getting to be a bit too much to bear.

“…Right. Well, I’m going to bed then.” Eddie cleared his throat, tried to stand, and to say he was _relieved_ when Richie moved to let him up would have been an understatement, although he couldn’t deny he’d enjoyed the contact. He’d just…enjoyed it a bit too much.

“Alright. Nighty ni- hang on.” Richie grabbed onto Eddie has he stood up, his fingers finding purchase in the nearest available surface, which just so happened to be Eddie’s upper thigh.

“W-what is it.” Eddie tried to exaggerate a drunken stagger in the hopes of dislodging Richie’s grabby hand, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

“What about you? You’re my friend. You’re my best friend! My _only_ friend, really.”

“Richie, for the last time, we’re not - ”

“And _you_ came to my party. So that means…that means _all_ of my friends came to my party! Just like I knew they would! I really am quite a popular guy, aren’t I Eddie? I mean, I throw a party, and _all_ my friends just show up, just like that!” He snapped his fingers with his free hand as a borderline psychotic grin of joy and denial flickered across his face, and Eddie…wasn’t quite sure what made him do it. It might have been the hapless smile on Richie’s stupid, ugly face, or the fingernails digging persistently into his leg, or the drink coursing through his veins, or something else entirely, (something like nigh on twenty years of built-up sexual tension, perhaps) but for whatever reason, Eddie shook his head, leaned down, and in the softest, most serious tone he possessed, he said;

“Richie my love, we are _more_ than just friends, and you bloody well know it.”

And then he kissed him. Quickly, chastely, and really rather drunkenly before he pulled back, removed the hand from his thigh and staggered towards the door.

“…What…I…wh- just where do you think you’re going, young man?!” Richie stuttered, his voice uncharacteristically meek. It was but a glimmer of his usual shrill tone, and made a bizarre juxtaposition to the words coming out of his mouth. Enough to bring Eddie up short, anyway.

“Bed.” Eddie muttered, suddenly embarrassed, “Told you.”

“…Your bed?” Richie’s face was bright red, his hair noticeably disheveled, and there was a sort of vulnerability about him that somehow went beyond the desperate, slimy neediness that had become such an integral part of his personality.

“Of course my bloody bed! Where else would I – oh.” Eddie paused, “ _…Oh_.”

“Oh?”

“…D’you…do you want me in…your bed? Instead?”

Richie said nothing, made no eye contact, which was frankly fucking unprecedented. After a minute’s hesitation, he nodded.

“…Right. Erm… I’ll…see you up there then, will I?” Eddie ventured. Another nod. “…Righto.”

Behind him, Richie heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing. Of Eddie’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. It was only then that he was able to have some sort of _reaction_ to what had just taken place – once he was certain there was no chance of being seen or ridiculed. A shell-shocked smirk broke out across his face, then quickly spread into a full-blown grin of joy and disbelief that had to be concealed by his hand before it turned into something embarrassing, like a fit of relieved, hysterical laughter. Twenty bloody years, he’d been waiting for that. _Twenty bloody years!_ And Christ, it had been worth it. Worth every second, Christ. Christ.

_Christ._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! And thanks to Frank for suggesting in the first place, even if it did take me a small age. Everyone was probably so OOC, so sorry for that everyone!!


End file.
